


Negotiating Space

by Avathys



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Dom Daddy Boba, King Boba Fett, King Din Djarin, M/M, Manda'lor Din Djarin, Negotiations, Riding, This is why we do leg day, author is a trash can not a trash cant, soft baby Din
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:54:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28263474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avathys/pseuds/Avathys
Summary: Two Kings meet to negotiate.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Boba Fett
Comments: 25
Kudos: 281





	Negotiating Space

**Author's Note:**

> This is my attempt to throw myself into the fandom’s sparking Dom Daddy Boba/soft baby Din trash heap.  
> No beta, all mistakes are my own, but I am looking for one, please read my notes at the end.  
> Manda’o translations also in end notes.  
> ENJOY!!!

~ Negotiating Space ~

They hadn’t seen each other in five years.

Since their time together aboard Slave I, the two men had grown apart, building lives outside of each other. One had forcefully taken a throne and carved out a multi planet spanning empire of crime, black market goods, and any debauched deed an imaginative person could dream up. And there were many disturbingly creative people out there. The other unexpectedly fell into a throne, a throne without a kingdom, and he wielded its power like it was a cursed duty thrust upon him by forces not only out of his control, but that he had actively avoided like a sarlaac pit.

It had taken three years to reestablish Mandalore. Three long, grueling, bloody years. Now, as the society’s rebirth neared its second anniversary, the new leader of the ancient, lost warrior society was caught in quite the conundrum.

An unsolvable problem that only the greatest bounty hunter ever and Crime Lord of Tatooine could help him with.

Din was incredibly nervous about seeing Boba Fett again. The man had already been a legend before they met. His reputation as the fiercest bounty that ever traversed the galaxy was whispered about quietly over drinks or used to threaten children that misbehaved. In fact, Din had met the older man at his lowest point, his least remarkable, and Boba had still managed to make an impression not even the fabled mythosaur could match. How strange to think about. Afterward, once again armored and Captain of Slave I, Boba had proven that only he could eclipse his own mythological status.

Boba  _ the  _ Fett, people called him now.

Din, on the other hand, had gained the title of Manda’lor.

King.

It still made him queasy, so many years later. He felt like an imposter and anyone that looked at him, actually looked at him, would instantly see that Din was just some random, single father that had once gotten into a life-or-death fight for his kid and somehow managed to win.

Boba saw him. Boba knew.

What would he think of his pet who now ruled several planets of his own?

Din would soon find out.

______

They hadn’t seen each other in five years.

Since their time together aboard Slave I, the two men had found themselves, forging their own places in the galaxy. One was respected and beloved, borderline worshipped, somehow both a man of the people and completely untouchable, honor infamously incorruptible. And there were several other impressively righteous people out there. The other literally butchered his predecessors in cold blooded murder, wielding power like a sharp knife perpetually covered in blood still warmed from the kill, a relentless, ruthless force of nature completely out of control, actively avoided with more dread than a sarlaac pit.

It had taken two minutes to claim a throne, stepping over the still warm bodies of his enemies, but it had required every second of every day after to maintain his blood-soaked empire and stay alive to see it through.

Boba was itching to see Din. His little pet that now wore a crown. It might have been a metaphorical crown, taking form instead as a sword of light and energy, but it was still power. Much more fitting for any property of Boba the Fett.

He remembered that sweet, expressive face, that pitch colored hair, those warm eyes that reminded Boba of an innocent child.

cyar’ika….

Boba practically salivated at the thought of having Din under his command once again. His patience and fortitude were paying off after so many years of letting his beloved play warrior, politician, and leader.

Boba had never mourned the loss of his most cherished child, instead he found himself proud of his foundling, his ad’ika, transformed into his own person. The bounty hunter turned mob boss turned Emperor was not ungenerous when it came to his possessions. And he had always known that Din would return to him some day.

That day had finally arrived.

His little one was coming home.

________

Mandalore needed just about everything. Crops, livestock, metals, technology, weapons. They were rebuilding an entire planet from scratch. Din’s success over the past couple of years had allowed for the once revered planet to explode in construction and manufacturing, a literal blooming of life itself in a desolate wasteland. 

He had almost been too successful.

Production and growth were outperforming his resources.

Separate from the New Republic, which was a young institution itself, Mandalore had to be creative in its allies. Din had to be personally active and imaginative in his solutions. Which was how having once knelt in submission to a certain black market kingpin came as a privately welcome connection. The citizens of Mandalore, even several high ranking business-men, had dealt with some of Fett’s low rung dealers, the ones that bowed and scraped to Fett, if they were even allowed in the room to begin with. As the Manda’lor, Din could go straight to the source.

He had rung his hands in exasperation for a week as he tried to think how to reach out to his former master, but eventually he plucked up the courage to send a curt invitation to negotiate. Din carefully made sure that the message gave nothing away.

Boba was a very private man.

Din had a certain reputation too, one that could not coexist with his former self and relationship under Boba.

Only a day passed before he received an equally vague and detached answer. Thankfully, Boba wanted to broadcast their dynamic as much as the King of Mandalore did, which was to say, not at all. Din was sure that Fennec knew, and that Cara suspected something between the two men, but that was all. And it would stay that way, permanently.

____

Boba had agreed to meet aboard his new super yacht, the Vindicator, a heavily armored former Imperial space frigate, corvette class, completely retrofitted to his personal tastes, with his pride and joy, Slave I, parked protectively in her hull.

He hadn’t changed his attire much since the day he’d brought Din aboard his ship. His black robes were longer, sweeping, and made of finer, more expensive linen. His tech had been upgraded to the latest in the galaxy, weapons system even more deadly, fabled armor kept clean and clear of chips and rust, but it was still that unmistakable hunter green of Boba Fett.

Watching vigilantly from his command deck, Boba evaluated the Manda’lor’s own frigate as it arrived. It was a sleek, narrow vessel, painted pitch black so it was just a dark needle-shaped blur against the vast vacuum of space. The Kyr’trikar it was called; the End of Sadness. Boba smirked. His boy had always been a broody little princess.

He drew in a deep breath, held it, savoring the burn in his lungs as they constricted and the way his heart slowed to conserve air. Boba needed to control himself. He wanted to savor every moment of his cyar’ika’s return. A successful kill was only made sweeter by the manner and length of the hunt.

Boba barked that they were maintain heading and speed. He was not to be disturbed unless directly attacked, which was very unlikely out here in the deep black expanse.

It was a short walk to his conference hall, so he arrived before Din did. Boba was glad. This allowed him to situate himself at the raised head of the oblong table, made of rich, ebony colored wood and dominating the center of the barren, metal room. A circle of matching black chairs surrounded the table, but the one Boba lounged in was large, ornate, wood hand carved, and set on a platform a good foot higher than the rest of the chairs.

Behind him hung a shimmering black banner. In its center was the silk stitched image of an ochre colored mythosaur skull, a mirror image of the one painted on Boba’s matching yellowed pauldron.

His standard, which was now flown far and wide, feared and respected.

Boba must have struck quite the image because when the far door opened and the Manda’lor finally walked in, dressed in full, gleaming beskar’gam, the man stopped dead in his tracks.

The two studied each other from behind their helmets, neither one giving any indication of their inner restlessness. The King of Hutt space had to admit he was thankful for the anonymity of his helmet. Din was quite the masterpiece to look at himself. While Boba had mostly stayed the same and only changed his surroundings, Din’s expansive council of advisors had been allowed to make several key changes to Din’s outward appearance, probably by politely bullying their new liege-lord, Boba noted sourly, even if he did appreciate the end result. Din’s armor was now painted solid black, emanating the same sleek image of his shiny new ship. That once tattered, threadbare cloak had been replaced by a floor length asymmetrical cape the color of blood, lined with matching crimson silk, while a fluffy ridge of smoke-toned white fur accented the broad curve of his shoulders. The flight suit under the armor was a clean, bright white, harsh against the dark black of the armor. The dark saber was pointedly visible from its place of honor on Din’s left hip.

Boba almost didn’t recognize Din.

If he didn’t intimately know that armor, the curve of that slim waist, a barely there tilt of the helmet that hinted at the hidden insecurity of the man underneath, Boba would have had to rip that helmet off to make sure it was actually his little ad’ika standing there, looking the very image of a warrior King.

Boba spoke first, knowing the training Din had received under his private tutelage dictated he be silent until spoken to.

“Manda’lor.” Boba greeted.

Din nodded. “Fett.” He answered coolly, finally moving once again. Boba smiled under his helmet. So that’s how his little monster wanted to play. Very well. The Mandalorian King strolled right up to the chair on Boba’s left, which sat along the very edge of the raised platform around Boba’s throne, but didn’t dare sit until told to.

“Join me.” Boba waved his hand, giving said permission.

Din sat, but lounged back, easily extending his long legs out in front of him. Toeing the line, maybe even giving it a testing kick, but never actually stepping out of the parameters dictated by his position while in the presence of his master. Din could be such a brat, but it made the sport worth playing.

“I hear we have business to attend to.” _ Prompt, letting you know buir is listening. _

“We do.” Din began, tone entirely professional. “I would like to proposition a formal alliance between Mandalorian and Hutt space. You have, from what I’ve heard, an endless wealth of merchandise, which you must sell for a profit to keep your empire afloat. Mandalore is in need of such resources.” There was no way these were Din’s words. They were too boring. His pet had been trained to speak politician and it made Boba want to grab him by the throat until he begged in Manda’o, eyes wild and mouth gasping, for Boba to stop. “In exchange for supplies I know you have, as well as access to Hutt shipping lanes, I will offer your syndicate exclusive contracts on all major infrastructure projects to rebuild Mandalore.”

Boba tilted his head. “What, exactly, are you asking me for?”

_ Ask Father for what you want. Be specific, so he can decide what you do and do not deserve to receive. _

“Graincrop, any fresh meat, the live animals would be better so we can breed them, mineral alloys, particularly durasteel and chromium, permission and protection while operating in Hutt space….” Din listed at least ten more items in rapid fire succession.

_ Demand more than you actually want. Good boy. _

“Why should I allow such a lucrative deal to you?” Boba asked. “What makes you think you deserve such a generous reward?”

_ Deny any and all requests completely, so that you may now commence begging. _

Din paused. He was trying to continue the ruse, come up with some trash compactor answer, taught to him by his government coaches, but he was coming up blank. Boba’s little foundling had never been politically inclined.

“Answer me, King of Mandalore.” Boba pressed, voice a low growl. Din fidgeted in his chair.

“Tell me… ad’ika.”

Din’s breath stuttered at the endearment, his shoulders jerking as if electrocuted. He was now clutching the edge of the table in front of him with one hand, his knee jumped once, twice, with nerves. There was a long silence, Boba waiting ever so patiently.

“Because I’ll be good.” Din finally answered, voice small. “I can be so good.”

_ There it is. Finally _ .

“Show me.” Boba ordered, giving a sharp nod to the floor next to his throne.

Din didn’t need to be told twice. He immediately slid from his chair, deadly body lithe and graceful as he neared Boba, joining him on the platform. Neither man made a single sound as Din slowly knelt next to Boba’s ridiculously pompous throne, the Manda’lor’s helmet visor mere inches from bumping into the side of Boba’s spread knees. His form was perfect, shins tucked, knees touching, butt resting on the backs of his calves, and head lowered in submissive reverence. A groan rumbled its way out of Boba’s tight chest as he flexed one hand in anticipation. By the damn Force, had he missed this. Boba’s favorite little play toy, finally placed back where it belonged.

The only place it truly belonged.

_____

Din’s heart was racing. He had hoped to draw out the chase, knowing Boba never liked to just shoot exactly what he was aiming for. But for kriff’s sake, he had fallen flat on his face in only two minutes.

He should have known better.

Din knew he couldn’t negotiate for shit, but he also hadn’t expected the ready-for-war gunship, the too big conference hall, the fucking flag draped behind Boba’s obnoxious space throne. The image of the man himself, King of Tatooine, in all his black robed, beskar’gam glory. The way he deftly took charge from Din, leading him exactly where he wanted him.

It was like the last five years had never happened. They were back in the cockpit of Slave I, Din nothing more than an object twirled around Boba’s thick, scarred finger. Even though he was looking down at Boba’s feet respectfully, like he had been taught to, he heard the telltale click and shuffle of Boba removing his helmet. Knowing what Boba wanted, Din reached up and carefully removed his own helmet, laying the perfectly buffed piece of Mandalorian culture near Boba’s feet, chin piece almost touching Boba’s booted toes.

“I’ve missed you, ad’ika.” Boba murmured. Din squeezed his eyes closed and sighed heavily.

“I’ve missed you too, buir,” He replied, risking a glance up before returning his eyes to the ground. Boba was a little more wrinkled, face a little harsher, but under that armor was his master, his protector, his Father. Din’s mind was quickly fading away, focusing solely on every little action, every little signal the man in the chair gave him. All that mattered was his Boba.

Boba patted one of his thighs, knees still spread. Din moved forward, still seated on the floor, to slot himself between the knees and rest his head against the firm muscle of Boba’s leg, nose tucking into Boba’s inner thigh. He took a huge breath in through his nose, reveling in the musky spice, mixed with the scent of clean linen and the metallic twinge of beskar, the familiar scent of home. He wondered how he had done without the last five years. Din felt so safe, so needed right here on his knees, between Boba’s open legs.

“Ni yaim'ol.” Din murmured, lips moving against the linen, hungry to taste the skin underneath, silently begging to be given permission.

Boba was a firm but kind parent. Din shivered as his buir reached down, carded his fingers through black hair just beginning to be checkered with a hint of slate grey. It was longer now, a handful of wire thin braids breaking up the unruly curls made by Din’s constant helmet wearing. Boba pulled one, just a tad too harsh, making Din bury his face higher up Boba’s leg, almost all the way into the crease between the crime boss’s thigh and groin.

It was then that he finally felt the heated firmness of Boba’s length, hidden beneath those layers of black robes. Din’s mouth watered. Boba was already hard for him.

Din couldn’t help the whine that escaped him. It was a needy, petulant demand for Boba to allow him to touch. To taste.

“Go ahead, little one.” Boba prompted. He leaned back in his chair, arms draped over each side, as Din went to work undoing the front of Boba’s robes. It was just a matter of pulling the hanging garments to one side, unhooking his belt and pants, and slipping the front of Boba’s underlinens far enough down that his thick cock was revealed. Din licked his lips at the sight of it, swollen and pink with interest. He glanced up at Boba’s face, needing his direction, and he found Boba staring down at him, focused in like a laser on Din’s mouth.

That was all Din needed.

He leaned forward and swallowed the head of Boba’s dick. His tongue greedily pressed into the slit along the heated length’s head, making Boba hiss at him. Din lapped at the smooth velvet of skin in apology, even though he was anything but sorry. Boba had to have known Din would push his buttons; he shouldn’t have given him the freedom to blow him if he wasn’t willing to put up with Din’s cheekiness.

Din moved away from the head and swirled his tongue expertly, hollowing out his cheeks and swallowing the length as far as he could. Boba’s cock was too large for him to take completely, so Din brought up his hand to massage along Boba’s base. In turn, Boba moved one of his hands to harshly grab a handful of wild hair curling along Din’s nape, making Din hum in approval. The Manda’lor sealed his lips firmly around the molten skin filling his mouth and sucked, tongue still lapping along every inch of Boba’s cock it could reach.

“I should never have taught you so well,” Boba griped, his voice a little broken as he forced himself to breath evenly through his nose. When Din and Boba had first started this, Din had never taken another man’s dick into his mouth, Boba suspected Din potentially had even been a virgin up until falling into his bed, but under Boba’s careful instruction he had caught on quickly how to drive the bounty hunter mad.

Din pulled off the other man’s erection with a lewd smack.

“My buir would never have failed me like that,” He said, leaning his head back against Boba’s thigh.

Boba huffed, giving Din a rare smile. Din’s stomach fluttered, warmth flooding his already rapidly firming cock. He gave Boba a small little smirk in response. They were both strong, private men, so these little moments, these quiet shows of affection, were rare and all encompassing. No one ever saw this side of either of them, so Din carefully memorized the gentle line of Boba’s mouth as the older man stared down at him, doing the same.

Boba was still painfully aroused, precum beading on the tip of his sex.

“Prepare yourself.” He ordered, reaching forward to tap the table top once, meaning immediately clear. “Here.”

Din stood, hip bumping one of the arms of Boba’s chair. He went about quickly undoing buckles and zippers, removing his black painted beskar tassets, unhooking his darksaber and laying it gently on the table in front of him, so he could pull down his stark white flight pants, followed by fine threaded underwear. After he had revealed himself, only giving Boba a brief view of his erect cock and tight balls surrounded by downy black hairs, he turned around and braced himself against the table. As he stood there in the narrow gap between Boba’s lap and the dark wood of the table, he felt the other man reach forward and pull Din’s red cloak to one side, Boba treating himself to an unobstructed view of Din’s perfectly formed ass. With his other hand, Boba pushed the small of Din’s back, urging him to lean further forward. That, combined with Din tilting his hips along the table’s rim, spread his cheeks apart, finally giving Boba the view he really wanted.

The Mandalorian King wasted no time wetting his finger with his mouth before reaching back to find his own heat. Din made sure to circle the pads of his fingers around the ring of pink muscle a few times, just until Boba flicked him sharply on one toned cheek.

“Don’t test me, ad’ika.” Boba growled. Din glanced over his shoulder, happy to see Boba watching as Din’s long finger finally disappeared inside the willing body laid out before him. Impatient, he pumped the single digit in and out only a few times before adding a second and in no time, he had three wet fingers deep inside his ass. Din shifted to lay down further over the table, resting himself on one forearm, back bowed and hips canted at an almost painful angle. That knot of nerves deep inside him was just right there, but he couldn’t quite reach them properly at this angle.

“Enough.” Boba said. He patted both thighs with the palms of his hands. Again, he didn’t have to say anything for Din to know exactly what was expected of him. Din shuffled backwards, quickly pulling off his breastplate so he could drape his body closer and more comfortably over Boba’s front. There were a few moments of Din spreading his legs awkwardly in his flight pants so he could straddle Boba’s widely spaced knees, but they eventually settled into each other. He lowered himself carefully, enjoying the strain in his calves as he squatted over Boba’s lap. Boba helped him by using one arm around his waist to steady him and the other hand to grab his dick and line himself up. Din just had to slide, deliciously, slowly, downward. They both hissed when the head of Boba’s well-endowed dick pushed past his stretched entrance. The burning in Din’s ass was just right. Fully impaled and held captive was a sensation he had dearly missed without the other bounty hunter in his life, back when he had been just a simple Mandalorian bounty hunter himself. His thighs shivered as he held himself up, relishing in the slow pause of time, like this moment could last forever.

“If you don’t move ad’ika, I’m going to have to punish you.”

“Is that a promise?” Din shot over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow high in bratty defiance.

“Gar mir’sheb’ika.” Boba chuckled even as he cursed Din’s attitude.

Proving he was an obedient and well-deserving child, Din relented by raising himself up and down at a grueling pace. His thighs were burning in no time, muscles tight and on the verge of cramping, but he paid it no mind. All he cared about was the hard cock spearing up into him, filling him up with each forceful drop downward. Boba gave his hum of content here, a growl of arousal there, even a small moan, leaning his head back as he gripped Din’s hips roughly. He allowed Din to set the pace, but his hold clearly stated that he would take back control the moment he saw fit.

Din wanted to make sure Boba saw no reason to retake command. He wanted to prove just how good he was.

However, Boba’s perfectly sized erection suddenly hit that spot deep down that made Din see bright white lights and he cried out in half surprise and half overwhelmed arousal. He fell completely forward, boneless, his forehead thunking quietly into the table top while his hips kept moving haplessly, trying to hit that delicious spot over and over again. His legs were so tired, but he forced himself to continue the primal roll of his hips. Noticing his ad’ika rapidly approaching to his peak, having not even each touched himself yet (another nono without permission), Boba grabbed one of Din’s knees and jerked it outwards and up to rest on the arm of his throne, spreading Din as far as he could without dislocating a hip. His momentum ripped away from him, Din could only turn his head and plead.

“Gedet'ye, kar’buir….” Din bit his lip hard, his nickname for Boba finally slipping from them, unbidden.

“Cyar’ika.” Boba hummed in response. “You can touch yourself, now”

Din’s lover then proceeded to ravage the heated hole offered to him, the loose, pliant flesh of Din’s body completely open and at his mercy. Din remained on his stomach, finding he could barely move, with his pelvic bone digging into the edge of the table, causing it to bruise more and more with each thrust. With Boba’s blessing, his hand moved from underneath him to snake down and, at long last, find his neglected, weeping cock.

At this angle he knew Boba could see everything, his balls tight and his erection heavy between his legs. He was just there for Boba to use, happy to finally let the man pound away at his own pace. Din's hand around his dick matched Boba’s pace for the most part, but would sometimes slide down to clutch at his steadily leaking head.

“Kar’buir,” Din whined, his tone warning, pleading. He was so close.

Boba knew. “It’s ok, I’m there too,” he whispered harshly, “Come cyar’ika, come for your kar’buir.”

And Din did exactly as he was told. His vision went white while his free hand scrambled for purchase. And for the briefest of moments, there was nothing but pleasure. Nothing but him, his buir, and the endless, free feeling of floating through space.

____

Boba heard Din’s breath hitch, painful and wrecked, before he felt Din clench tightly around his dick in climax. His pet spasmed wildly as he finished, a beautiful moan of that deep, rich voice music to Boba’s ears.

His little one satisfied, Boba chased his own pleasure, set on marking Din as his once again. His hips pistoned back and forth with wild abandon, too far gone to even set an actual rhythm, just primal instinct propelling him at this point. With a final shove, the crime boss peaked himself, coming in a barely contained snarl as he flexed his hips, slamming them into the back of the legs spread wide open across his throne. He came in waves that never seemed to end, just one after another until borderline painful.

Until they did end.

His senses slowly coming back to him, Boba lowered himself back into his seat. He tenderly pushed Din’s knee off the arm of his chair and pulled the man’s ass to finally rest in his lap, that delicious, heated rump flush against his now flaccid cock. Din was breathing heavily, still laying listlessly on the table.

“Come here, ad’ika,” Boba said. It wasn’t an order, but it wasn’t a request either. It was that in between where his words just were, saying exactly what needed to be said.

Din finally sat up and turned slowly in Boba’s lap, seeking connection. Their foreheads came together, gently touching in a Keldabe kiss for several long, intimate moments before they both leaned in and brought their mouths together as well. As obscene as their actions only moments before had been, the tender graze of lips was innocent and sweet, and that made it even more meaningful to both of them in some strange way. Boba knew he could feel the warm euphoria loosening his body as he pressed wet hot against Din’s slightly ajar mouth.

Boba licked between Din’s lips once, tasting him, before he pulled away.

Din drew in a shaky breath, moving to speak once he had the air to, but stopped himself right before he talked out of turn. Instead, a quick look up at Boba, warm brown eyes so beautiful with their widely blown pupil and overwhelmed sheen of barely there tears.

“Go ahead,” Boba prompted, rewarding Din’s respect for the rules.

“Have I been good, kar’buir?” He asked.

Boba paused, but then gave a small smirk. “This means a lot to you, my little one, doesn’t it?”

Din gave a single nod of his head. His eyes hardened a little, challenging and fierce.

_ That’s my boy. _

“Then of course my ad’ika can have whatever he wants. A good cyar’ika deserves a generous kar’buir.”

Din smiled widely at this and he leaned forward to kiss Boba in gratitude. He sloppily touched his mouth wherever he could, along the ridge of Boba’s jaw, on the tip of his wide nose, feverishly nipping at Boba’s chin and attempting to lick into his mouth. Boba allowed the display, but remained more still that he wanted to, letting Din take his reward as he pleased.

“Thank you, buir.” Din said finally, bringing their foreheads back together for a second Keldabe kiss, the action so important to Mandalorian culture and misunderstood or overlooked by everyone else. So many people across the galaxy didn’t understand how intimate it was to share breath with another, to stare each other in the eyes and just exist together, noses pressed close and lips ghosting close but never fully touching.

Finally, the two instinctively pulled away at the same time. The spell was broken, their fairy tale had ended.

“You need to head back.”

“Yes.”

Silence. Boba didn’t want to let go of his iron hold on Din, his only way to keep the Manda’lor by his side, in his lap. However, with great effort he released his grip and allowed Din to slip away from his circle of power and influence. Din would soon be leaving him.

Again.

Boba frowned down at his still wet, exposed member as he pulled his pants back up and reshuffled his robes, making himself decent once again.

It took Din longer to redress, so Boba was able to look over and watch the other man buckle himself in, zipping up his crisp suit and slowly readorning his thigh tassets and heavy breastplate. At least Din would be unable to clean himself up, wash Boba off and down the drain, and would instead now have to wander Boba’s ship with cum leaking from his ass. The pleased Hutt King allowed himself to imagine Din’s discomfort and arousal as he flew home, knowing that the back of his flight pants were slowly dampening with Boba’s seed, hidden only by that previously completely useless cape of his. Would he head straight to some meeting to announce the good news? Would he stand there, the chosen leader of Mandalore, secretly sopping wet and sore, knowing that he, in fact, belonged solely to Boba the Fett?

Din finished and looked up at him, his gentle awkwardness showing as he cocked his head and gave Boba a hesitant smile.

Boba only leaned forward, plucked the darksaber from the table top and tossed it without warning into Din’s chest.

“Don’t forget that.” Boba teased, watching as Din scrambled to catch it, completely caught off guard.

The Mandalorian King actually gave Boba an annoyed look, eyes narrowing into slits, but his mouth curled around the corners, giving him away. Once the dark saber was secured once more on Din’s hip, the man hesitated again, eyes alternating between the floor and Boba’s face, searching for guidance.

“Go, ad’ika,” Boba urged, quietly, hating that he was telling Din to leave but knowing it was the right move for both of them.

He loved Din and the man knew it.

Din loved him and Boba reveled in that thought every moment he remembered Din’s heart belonged to him and him alone.

Unfortunately, their lives would not allow them to stay together forever. Destiny and love were not meant for people like them, happy endings with a family, a stable home, and fulfilling life not written into their ill-fated stars. They were two lost souls that had fallen over the edge of the map long ago, negotiating the space left to them without a heading, knowing they were doomed. No one ever came back from the endless black abyss; this was all they got.

And it was enough.

“But don’t let it be five years before I see you again.” Boba couldn’t resist, his heart aching to hold Din again already. “You don’t need to want something to come see your kar’buir.”

At Boba’s easy words, Din finally relaxed, a true, genuine smile from ear to ear easing the tension from his beautiful features. Din’s eyes crinkled at the corners, small dimples accenting his flushed, sloping cheeks. It took Boba’s breath away. 

“Thank you, Boba.” Din said finally before turning to walk away. This time, he didn’t wait for permission to act, once again a respected warrior and powerful King. His long legs traversed the great hall easily, giant loping strides all too quick and not fast enough. Boba needed Din gone. He needed Din to stay forever.

“Goodbye, Din.” Boba whispered faintly, not knowing if Din heard him or not as he slipped that black helmet over his head. Boba couldn’t look away as Din pressed the panel control to open the door, walked back out into the hallway, and turned to head towards the flight deck.

Din didn’t look back. Instead he was gone just as suddenly as he had arrived.

The door whirled closed and Boba was left in silence.

However, he found himself giving a chuckle as he leaned back happily in his throne, imaging all the delectable fun he’d have the next time his child came home.

~*~

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Manda’o translations (Note: I am not an expert. Translations are my own attempts at piecing together the language)  
> Gedet'ye - Please  
> Ad’ika – child  
> Buir – father  
> Cyar’ika – little one, dear one  
> Kar’buir – protective/guardian father, their version of Daddy  
> Ni yaim'ol. – I am home/I have returned.  
> Gar mir’sheb’ika. – You little smartass. 
> 
> Well, hope you folks enjoyed this, it was a blast to write! I have not decided whether or not to keep this as a oneshot, make it a twoshot, or maybe just add small snippets and drabbles to it here or there. Please let me know what you all think, I will even take prompts! Please give me your kinks, related ideas, and scenarios and I’ll see if I can come up with anything. You can comment them here or reach me privately on Tumblr. 
> 
> My tumblr is for creeping only, I don’t really interact, like at all, so its completely blank, but I swear I’m there and I don’t bite. Unless you ask me too….. I am totally up for chatting with anyone. I’m also looking for someone willing to Beta this or any of my other Mandalorian works, which I now have three of, check them out and drop me a comment. Or message me if you are interested.
> 
> My tumblr - [Avathys](https://avathys.tumblr.com/)
> 
> My other works: 
> 
> [And Yet Ways Change](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28042677/chapters/68699289) \- My Chirrut/Din rarepair saga, which will end up being about 20 to 30 chapters. Will be updated tomorrow or on Christmas day. 
> 
> [Catch Fire With Me](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28180107/chapters/69052335) \- Migs/Din ABO short story smutfest. Alpha/alpha pairing. Will be updated on Christmas or sometime this weekend. 
> 
> Thank you, and that’s all folks!! Please leave me kudos and comments, I love them!!


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